“Well?” said Nicholas watching the man keenly. “By the way, I suppose you know I am entirely at your mercy. I could ring this bell,” he indicated an electric button attached to the arm of his chair, “but I suppose it would be at least three minutes before any one came. Yes,” he continued thoughtfully, “allowing for the distance from the servants’ quarters, I should say it would be at least three minutes. You could get through a fair amount of business in three minutes. Was it the candlesticks you wanted?” He looked towards a pair of solid silver candlesticks on the mantelpiece. “They are cumbersome, you know. Or the miniatures? There are three Cosways and four Engleharts. I should recommend the miniatures.”
“I wanted to see you,” said the man bluntly.
“Indeed!” Nicholas’s white eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch above his keen old eyes. “An unusual hour for a visit, and—an unusual entrance, if I might make the suggestion.”
“There’d never have been a chance of seeing you if I had come any other way.” There was a hint of bitterness in the words.
Nicholas looked straight at him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Job Grantley,” was the reply. “I live down by the Lower Acre.”
“Ah! One of my tenants.”
“Yes, sir, one of your tenants.”
“And—?” suggested Nicholas urbanely.